


The Off Day

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: 'He prodded at the crème puff with his coffee spoon, wondering whether to dissect it or just cram the thing whole into his mouth. Maybe if he eviscerated the pastry and ate the cream first it would make a difference. Instead he sipped his coffee because he wasn’t sure what difference he wanted to make.'With their friend and former captain about to fly to Argentina, Hanamaki and Matsukawa meet up to buy him a farewell gift - a memento of their time together at Aobajousai. But as much as he wishes Oikawa the best, Hanamaki can't help feeling that things are changing around him, while he's stuck in the same familiar groove. And he's not even sure Mattsun can help him this time.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics





	The Off Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tookumade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/gifts).



> Ta-Da!
> 
> This is for San as a belated birthday gift!

“I think we should split up.”

An indrawn breath—dramatic jazz hands reeling with the shock.

“I didn’t know we were dating. You wound me, Makki. _Wound_ me.”

With a grumpy sort of snort, Hanamaki whacked Matsukawa on the chest. “Be quicker if we split and search different shops, don’t you think?”

“Hmm. We still have to agree what we’re gonna get. And, like, what if you find something in the first shop you walk into and have to wait for me.”

“The power of technology has passed you by, hasn’t it?” Hanamaki replied and held up his phone. “Sorry, I don’t have a carrier pigeon on me.” Peering at him, he noticed a slight slump in Matsukawa’s shoulders, and he’d stuck his hands in his pockets—either a sign he was pissed off or had forgotten his belt again. He squinted. There was no belt. “Or we stick to the original plan and …”

“There was a plan? Did it involve coffee?”

“You want coffee now?”

“Mmm, then we can discuss what we’re going to buy.”

“I guess.”

They wandered towards the café they always went to. Familiarity, usually so welcoming, for once made Hanamaki sigh a little. Not that Matsukawa noticed, but pushed the door open and headed straight for the table underneath the Utamaro print, while Hanamaki dropped his bag on the chair opposite and disappeared to the toilet.

“I ordered for you,” Matsukawa said when he returned.

“Tell me you went wild and ordered me … I dunno … bubble tea and sakuramochi.”

“Yeah, sure … I’ll _tell_ you that.”

“Latte and a crème puff, then,” Hanamaki stated, deadpan.

He fingergunned him. “You got it.”

Just then the waitress returned with the order. Hanamaki recognised her because she worked every Saturday and also Monday afternoon when they bowled up here after school. He gave a small smile, not really interested in conversation today, but Matsukawa thwarted him, asking how she was, and how he hoped the crème puffs were especially good today. Assuring him that they were, she backed away at Matsukawa’s horribly bad attempt at flirting and scurried towards the next table to take another order.

“You know she’s old enough to be your … uh … older sister,” he told Matsukawa.

“Um… what?”

“Nothing.” He prodded at the crème puff with his coffee spoon, wondering whether to dissect it or just cram the thing whole into his mouth. Maybe if he eviscerated the pastry and ate the cream first it would make a difference. Instead he sipped his coffee because he wasn’t sure what difference he wanted to make.

“So, any ideas?” Matsukawa asked.

“Not really? I was hoping we’d be inspired as we shopped.” He shrugged. “It’s got to be light, portable, preferably useful but … well … I’d kind of like it to be a souvenir.”

“Souvenir. He’s not a tourist?”

“A memento, I mean.”

“So when he looks at it, he thinks of us. How sweet,” Matsukawa drawled, and batted his eyelashes (impossibly long, black lashes too).

“Seriously, if that’s your flirtatious look, it’s not good,” Hanamaki snapped, then tried to soften with a hint of a smile.

Not that Matsukawa seemed remotely bothered, but he sat back in his chair, sipped his coffee and stared up at the print. “I was gonna suggest a Seijou-related thing, but he’s got plenty of that. We all have.”

“Mmm.” There were only so many team photos a guy could store, or turquoise and white shirts he could wear.

“A sun hat?”

“A big straw one like Luffy’s.”

“No, it would mess up his hair. Maybe let’s skip the useful part and find something fun.”

Biting into his cake, Hanamaki felt the cream ooze onto his lips. It tasted delicious, as usual, but again there was a slight dissonance as he swallowed, a feeling that this was too expected and not—

“I don’t think he’ll mind. Maybe he won’t want to take it with him. So, just a jokey something from us both. Like we did for his last birthday.”

“And the one before,” Hanamaki murmured. He finished the cake, frowning as he pushed the plate away. “Or we could buy him something each. It doesn’t have to be from both of us, does it?”

“Oh …” Matsukawa stopped drinking, the cup staying in his hand as if suspended. “I guess not. Then I could get—”

“The hat, if you want, and I’ll look for something else.”

“You think the hat’s a bad idea.”

“It’s fine. I …” He paused, resisting his usual urge to mop up the remaining crumbs and cream with his finger. “I think he’ll like it.”

Which was probably true. He’d smile widely, gush and say how wonderful it was. He might model a hat, and declare it was perfect. But whether Oikawa would take the hat to Argentina, or take any of the gifts with him, he didn’t want to bet on. There was a feeling of finality about his journey, an escape from everything (and everyone, perhaps) that could possibly hold him back, and maybe even something as simple as a hat would prove too much for him.

But, he reasoned, they needed to make the effort, as much for them as for Oikawa.

“Let’s meet back here in an hour,” Hanamaki said as they stepped outside. “But, look, I’m a rotten shopper, so if you find something sooner, then feel free to go and do something else.”

Matsukawa tilted his head and then stared at his shoes. “I don’t have anything planned, Makki – ‘cept this. But … uh … if you don’t want to hang out, then … look … you go.”

Sighing, Hanamaki rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not that. I can’t explain. It’s just … I’m … Nothing feels quite right today and I don’t know why.”

“An off day,” Matsukawa concluded and shrugged. “We all have them. I’ll see you in hour.”

And he loped off, his strides a little longer than usual. Without watching him go, Hanamaki set off in the opposite direction, hoping that if inspiration didn’t strike the filthy mood he found himself plummeting towards would lift.

He was even more fed up after fifteen minutes. There were shirts he could buy, but Oikawa had so many clothes, and would he really want another with an alien on it? Wasn’t the alien thing rather overdone now? Maybe not. He chewed his lip, remembering the phone case Oikawa had just bought bedecked with green Martians, much to Iwaizumi’s derision (not that he could talk as he was still as obsessed with Godzilla as he had been when he’d started at Seijou). So maybe a shirt would be fine, and it was something he could wear and light enough to take with him, but …

_Boring._

His eyes landed on hats, baseball caps and sunhats, focusing on a straw panama. But he couldn’t see it on Oikawa, couldn’t imagine the jaunty tilt of it atop his hair, and maybe that was because he’d made the crack about Oikawa not wanting to mess up his perfect waves, or maybe the face he could see in his mind was grinning even as he quirked one eyebrow and leant closer.

_Stop that._

Posters for a new room to decorate? Except properly protected, they’d take up room in a case. And wasn’t it better to pick your own posters?

A cookery book, for now he’d have to fend for himself. A phrase book so he could learn the language (Spanish or Portuguese—Hanamaki wasn’t sure). But then Oikawa’s mum had been teaching him to cook (he’d experimented on them all unfortunately) and he kept dropping foreign phrases into his conversation saying he needed to see how they sounded—the reqality being he wanted to show-off.

It was as he debated texting Matsukawa to say he needed help and this splitting up had been a bad idea, that he wandered down a side street and found himself outside a jewellers. He was wondering about a chain, when his attention was caught by a set of watches in the window. He laughed looking at one, featuring Godzilla – one arm being the hour hand and his tail showing the minutes. Stupid, dumb, but … yeah, useful. If only it were Iwaizumi they were buying for it would be spot on. But there were others in there, so maybe … just maybe … they’d having something more in tune with Oikawa. A volleyball watch or …

Oh… Space? He caught his breath, seeing in the corner a watch with the solar system on it, a mini Earth attached to one hand and a green alien on the other.

And he knew, however much he rolled his eyes, that Oikawa would love it. 

Bowling into the shop, he made the purchase, still grinning as much for the fact he’d been successful as he’d finished the arduous task of shopping with fifteen minutes to spare.

**< <I’m done>>** he texted.

**_< <Are you going home?>>_** came the reply.

_Huh, was I going to? Why would he think that?_

Except he had been a bit of a grump.

**< <Going to hang around for a bit. See you outside the café.>>**

It wasn’t a warm day, but the frost from last week had disappeared, so he had no objection to sitting on a bench. In the bag was the watch, so he broke it out of the packaging to smile again at how apt it was. I mean, yeah, it was something that would amuse an eight year old, especially the alien’s face ticking away, but Oikawa did still behave like an eight year old, and Hanamaki couldn’t see Argentina kicking that childlike side out of him.

It was as his nail scratched away at the sticky price tag that he noticed something underneath. He blinked, peered closer, then groaned.

Bollocks! What a stupid fucking purchase! He’d been so intent on finishing shopping that he’d not checked properly and now—

“Yo.”

Matsukawa was slouching towards him and from the set of his shoulders and the slow gait, his shopping trip hadn’t been that successful, either. He slumped on the bench next to him and let out a sigh.

“I’ve just had the worst luck.”

“In what way?” Hanamaki asked, wondering of it could possibly be any more dumb than the error he’d made.

“I saw something for Oikawa, practically perfect apart from one thing. So I went off to search for something else, found that, came back to get the first thing and … well … it had gone. Last fucking one, as well. Shopping sucks.”

“It does,” Hanamaki agreed. “I bought something that’s turned out to be fricking useless. And unless the jeweller takes it back and refunds me, then I’ve got no money left.”

“Jeweller?”

“Look, you might as well see it. I saw this watch which I thought would be brilliant for Oikawa. Like, it’s a bit dumb, but it’s his kind of dumb, and I thought it’d be a memento of Japan and Seijou because of all those nights he wanted to stargaze.”

“Search for UFOs you mean,” Matsukawa muttered. His eyes were narrowing, but there was a glint in them, and his mouth was twitching. “So … this watch … what’s wrong with it?”

He splayed his hand, displaying the watch in all its glory, as well as the packaging with its proclamation inside a star of ‘Age six and up’.

“And I know he’s a brat, but he doesn’t have brat-sized wrists.”

“Oh. That’s … um … unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate doesn’t cover it. I’ve got very little money left and now I’ve taken it out of the packaging, then I’m just going to have to hand it over like it is, or give him nothing.”

“Or get a new strap.”

“What?”

“Buy a strap,” Matsukawa replied, and took the watch. “Look, this’d be easy to remove and you could … I dunno … buy some leather and make something. Gives it a personal touch and like you said, it is the sort of thing Oikawa will like.”

“Leather? Make a strap? You do know you’re talking to someone with the dexterity of a … a … puffin!” He waved his hands in the air. “These fingers are good for chopsticks and eating crème puffs, but nothing fancy. How do you even make a strap? What about the buckle? And the notches. This is—” He stopped abruptly as Matsukawa emptied a small paper bag onto his lap. “What’s that?”

“Leather strips,” Matsukawa replied, and picked them up, twisting one between his fingers. “I bought them from the craft shop.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw a watch which would be perfect for Oikawa except that the strap was too small, but knowing I could fashion something a little more personal, perhaps out of leather, that he could fasten himself, threaded with beads maybe … I hot footed it to the shop, intending to come back to the watch shop once I’d checked I could get everything I needed.”

“You were going to make a strap.”

“I’m not just an incredibly pretty face and a damn fine middle blocker,” Matsukawa said, smirking as he waggled his hands. “These fingers can weave, man, really weave.”

“What?”

“Courtesy of Granny,” he replied. “She taught me leather work and I’m a dab hand at crochet too. Not great at lace, but I don’t have the patience, I guess.”

“How did I not know this about you?”

“Man of mystery” He gave a smile—the one which curled across his face. “I don’t tell you everything, you know. So … as I’m in possession of the solution to your problem, and you’re in possession of the present I was going to buy—and let me remind you that I saw it first—”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that you didn’t buy when you saw it!”

“Like you did.”

“Exactly!” He gave a grin and thought about batting his eyelashes the way Mattsun had done earlier, but he didn’t think he could pull it off, given he had stumpy lashes. “But you’re right, I am stuck with a useless present unless you come to my rescue.”

“A ‘Nice Receive’,” Matsukawa replied, and smiled back. “Then, are we giving a joint present? Or are you still determined to do everything different today?”

“Was it that obvious?” He scuffed his shoe on the pavement. “Sorry. Like you said it was an off day.”

“Was or Is?”

Squinting at him, Hanamaki took a breath. “Not sure yet. It’s … I guess it’s thinking about Oikawa and the adventure he’s about to go on, and things are changing, but _I_ don’t seem to be. Does that make sense?”

“You want to go abroad?”

“No … that’s not it. Don’t you think the same? Like we do the same things all the time, and it’s great and I love doing this stuff, but it’s ... kinda like we’re clinging to the last days rather than moving on, but at the same time what do I want to move on to?”

“You want things to change but at the same time you don’t?”

“Yeah … it’s shit, right.”

There was a pause, quite a long one. Matsukawa relaxed back on the bench, stretching out his long legs, and staring at the sky as he pondered.

“You know,” he said at last, “you don’t have to move away to make changes in your life, Taka. The course of a game can alter with one shot, one toss, one serve, even.”

“This isn’t volleyball.”

“Same principle.” Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “Come on, I want another drink, it’s cold out here.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, I’ll even buy you another cake as you hated the crème puff so much.”

“It wasn’t the crème puff but the predictability.” His mouth started to water. “Maybe I’ll have an éclair instead.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“No, completely different shape – changes the whole experience.”

If the waitress noticed they’d returned after so short an interval, she didn’t comment on it, but handed them menus then scurried off to take an order from another couple. Not wanting coffee this time Hanamaki ordered lemonade and with no shame an éclair, leaving Matsukawa chuckling as he asked for a glass of milk.

“Bedtime already?”

“No, then it’d be warm milk or cocoa,” Matsukawa replied, unbothered.

“So … this leather strap, how are you making it?”

“Oh, right.” He screwed up his nose. “Similar to a friendship bracelet. It won’t need a buckle because he can just tie it on, and I bought some beads to thread into it. You know, Seijou colours are pretty similar to Argentina’s. Do you think that’s why he chose to go there?”

“Mmm, probably the only reason.”

Turning away, Matsukawa delved into his paper bag and brought out four leather strands. “Give me your wrist.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll show you a basic one. Then you can decide if you want me to pimp up Oikawa’s watch.”

“Oh … okay.” He held out his wrist, felt the leather come into contact with his skin as Matsukawa measured the circumference and then watched as his fingers deftly twisted the threads together, into something that looked like a braid, except for the odd twist, and the occasional red bead.

“Why red?”

“Because it’s not Seijou, and you want to be different,” Matsukawa murmured. “And I like red.” He finished by knotting the ends together to seal the braid, then reached across for Hanamaki’s wrist. “That’s kinda clumpy. I’d glue or stitch Oikawa’s, but you get the idea.”

His fingertips were cool against Hanamaki’s skin, or maybe it was his wrist that was hot, but as Matsukawa tied the bracelet, his little finger gently pressed into the back of his hand to steady the wrist.

And suddenly, unaccountably, Hanamaki wanted to turn his hand over, to press his palm into Matsukawa’s, make out as if they were holding hands.

Which he could do if he pretended he were admiring it from the other side. If he did it quick before Matsukawa moved, then he could experience that moment, just in case it felt right, or he was never right in that moment again.

He paused … too long … too long …

But Matsukawa hadn’t moved, and just as he was debating (again) the advisability of paddling palms, especially in a café where the waitress could return at any moment, ( _Where is she?)_ he felt fingers interlocking into his.

“What are you—“”

“Looks good, right?” Matsukawa mumbled, and his eyes drifted from Hanamaki’s hands to his eyes.

“Uh … yeah…”

“I’ll make him a better one. And you, if you’d like.”

“I like this one.”

“But I could do something so much better.”

“But this highlights … um … a moment.” He coughed. “You realise we’re still holding hands.”

“Um… yeah.”

In the end it wasn’t the waitress who interrupted them and forced them to break apart, but two identical beeps on their respective phones.

“It’s the group chat,” Matsukawa said, and sighed as he relinquished Hanamaki’s hand. “Oikawa has eyes everywhere.”

“We don’t have to read it.”

Matsukawa had already reached for his phone. “Except … it’s not Oikawa… HOLY SHIT!” His eyes had widened and an incredulous grin had wiped every other expression off his face.

“What … What’s shit and why’s it holy?” Hanamaki demanded, scrabbling for his phone. He clicked on the chat, saw the message and barked out a whoop, punching the air! “IWAIZUMI!!!!!”

“Wow … California … he actually got in.” Matsukawa sat back in his chair, still smiling.

“Deserves it! All that work.”

“Well, yeah, ‘course. Such determination from the little guy.”

Snorting, Hanamaki typed out a congrats, then he stared at Matsukawa. “You realise we need to get him a gift now.”

“Something light, so he can take it with him, and useful?” Matsukawa pondered.

“And I know just the thing. As long as you can make another watch strap.” He chewed his lip. “Or if it’s too much you could show me how to make them and I’ll help.”

“Ah … well … I could, but then I’d have to ki—”

“Kill me? Bit harsh, but fair, I guess.”

And Matsukawa leant forwards, resting his chin in his hand, and fluttered his eyelashes again (with no waitress in sight) “I was going to say ‘kiss you’ actually. Isn’t that the way they usually shut someone up in High School dramas?”

His throat dried. He stared at Matsukawa’s mouth and wondered. He wondered at the redness of his lips and whether they were soft, or a little chapped like Hanamaki’s own lips. And he wondered how he’d never realised just how inviting a proposition to kiss those lips would be.

“We’ve nearly left High School, Issei,” he rasped. Stupidly.

“We’re late developers,” Matsukawa pronounced, his voice a little husky.

“One éclair, one lemonade, and one glass of milk,” said the waitress, sounding flustered as she placed the tray on their table. “You were in earlier, weren’t you? Must be thirsty today.”

“You could say that,” Matsukawa said, and cleared his throat, still not breaking eye contact with Hanamaki. “At least I am. I don’t know about my friend.”

“Oh … uh … yeah,” Hanamaki replied, pleased his voice was almost back to normal. “ _Very_ thirsty.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing this as Ch 395 hot, so the ending changed a little - ha ha ha.


End file.
